‘Every word . . .’ Again the muffled response.
‘I read it every day.’ The words sounded lame and pointless even as he spoke them.
This time there was no reply.
His bewilderment growing, Hector tried again. ‘You haven’t asked where we are going.’
Again the flat reply, the curtain of hair hiding her face. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
There was a finality in her voice that shook Hector. He looked down at an ant crawling slowly between the crushed stalks of grass, as it clutched a green leaf. The leaf was several times larger than the ant, and the insect faltered under the strain. He and Maria had each been carrying their own burden, he thought, a burden of hope. For a grim moment he wondered if he’d been deluding himself, if he was about to lose Maria.
As he watched the ant struggle onwards, a small dark spot suddenly appeared on the dry earth. Then, as it faded, another appeared close beside it. With a lurch, he knew they were tear drops. Maria was crying silently.
Bereft, he reached out and took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. To his utter relief he felt her squeeze back, certainly and strongly. He allowed himself to feel reassured, to think all would be well. But he knew, in that same instant, it would be better to wait. The two of them could talk later about all that had happened while they had been apart, and what each hoped of the other.
THIRTEEN
THE GALAIDE LAYAK slipped into the cove soon after dark to collect the little group, and next morning delivered them safely back to Rota. Ma’pang’s villagers were far from disappointed that only a single hostage had been rescued, and came splashing out into the shallows with whoops of welcome. Their women gazed with open fascination at Maria, the first guirrago female they had ever seen, then whisked her away to the village. Hector and his companions followed, escorted by a chattering crowd and heralded by four Chamorro warriors jubilantly waving the muskets that had been stolen from the fort. The group had hardly arrived at the bachelor house before a celebration feast was under way. Hector, Jacques and the others were assigned places of honour, seated on the ground before a cooking trench filled with glowing coals. Heaps of fish and plantains were grilled and handed around, and several large jars of palm wine were set out, with coconut shells as cups. Trying to locate Maria, Hector spotted her standing beside Ma’pang’s wife on the fringes of the watching crowd.
‘They do love the sound of their own voices. He has been shouting for a good half-hour,’ Jacques said, as he turned to watch a Chamorro warrior striding up and down, haranguing the assembled villagers in a lather of enthusiasm.
‘What’s he saying, Ma’pang?’ Hector asked. He couldn’t understand a word, but clearly the orator was repeating himself.
‘That Kepuha is a great makhana. Now he is back among us, he will intercede with the spirits of the otherworld, and they will rise up and protect the village from the guirragos.’
‘What’s a makhana?’
‘The missionaries have a word for such people – a shaman.’
Dan spoke Spanish well enough to have followed the conversation and gave Hector a meaningful glance. ‘Hector, you have to tell him the truth,’ he said.
Hector paused, unwilling to offend his host. Then, keeping his tone as neutral as he could, he said, ‘Ma’pang, you will need more than the help of the spirits if you are to defend yourselves and your families.’
Ma’pang set aside the fish head he had been sucking, and wiped his fingers on the ground. ‘You are going to tell me that we must become like Dan here.’
Hector couldn’t help but admire the way the naked warrior often seemed one step ahead of what he was about to say.
‘That’s right.’
‘And that is why he stole those muskets when we were in the fort?’
‘Yes, with enough powder and shot and those muskets, your people—’ he began.
‘A handful of muskets is not enough. The guirragos have many guns and cannon.’ Ma’pang broke off a fishbone and began to use it to pick at his sharpened teeth.
Hector ploughed on. ‘Even half a dozen muskets have their uses. Your people must first learn how to use guns. Dan and Jezreel can show them how to load and aim, how to fit new flints and keep such weapons in good repair.’
‘And after that?’
‘You obtain more muskets, distribute them to all your warriors and to any Chamorro clans who are your allies.’
‘And where do we find these extra guns?’ Ma’pang was watching Hector narrowly, a gleam of real interest in the deep-set brown eyes.
Hector drew a deep breath. This was something he and Dan had discussed during the journey back from Aganah. It was their chance to leave the islands.
‘Do you remember what I said to you on the day you captured us on the beach?’
‘That you had been set ashore to make an alliance with us. With our help you would seize the big ship that comes here yearly to supply the guirragos.’
‘Exactly. The muskets we already have are sufficient to carry out that attack ourselves, using exactly the same plan.’
‘Go on.’ Ma’pang flicked the fishbone into the embers of the cooking fire.
‘Your people paddle out to the ship, pretending to want to trade. Dan, Jezreel, Jacques and I will lie hidden in the canoes. Stolck can bring his musket. After the initial shock of our gunfire, your warriors can climb aboard and seize the ship.’
Ma’pang belched softly. ‘Five of you will not be enough. The ship is too big, too many men on board.’
‘But we don’t ambush the big galleon. Instead we seize the much smaller one, which, according to Jacques, is due very soon. She carries enough weapons to arm everyone in your village.’
The Chamorro warrior lifted his chin as he stared down at Hector. ‘And what would you want from us in exchange?’
‘Every guirrago ship brings a smaller boat that we call a launch. It is either stowed on deck or towed behind her. We ask that the Chamorro give us that boat and enough water and food to last three weeks, and allow us to leave Rota.’
‘And where would you go?’
‘Towards the setting sun, because that is downwind. Eventually we will reach a place where we can contact our own people.’
Ma’pang’s red lips gleamed wetly as he spat out a shred of food. ‘I will explain your plan to the council of the old men. It is up to them to decide. But I warn you. If the plan succeeds, you will have a long, long voyage. We call our islands tano’ tasi – “land of the sea” – because we are so far from any other country.’
SEVERAL DRUNKEN Chamorro were snoring on the ground by the time the feast ended some hours later, and Hector had lost sight of Maria. He supposed she’d gone back to Ma’pang’s hut with his wife and, as it was getting dark, he decided it would be more appropriate if he spent the night in the uritao. But he got little rest. He lay awake, turning over and over in his mind what he should say to Maria.
Shortly after dawn the next day he climbed down from the bachelor house and succeeded in making a pack of bright-eyed, giggling Chamorro children understand that he wanted to find the guirrago woman. They led him to one of the larger huts at the far end of the village. As he arrived, Maria had just emerged. She’d washed and changed, and combed out her hair so that it hung loose around her shoulders. Barefoot, she wore the same plain brown skirt as the previous day and had put on a fresh, dark-blue bodice that she must have carried in her bundle of clothes. Hector thought she looked strained, and was not entirely recovered from the hectic events of the previous two days.
‘Let’s walk down to the beach,’ he proposed. He felt self-conscious and awkward. ‘The village fishing fleet makes quite a sight.’